#And we are working through my mental headspace by bit

[blackout-marker]

my month (and 1/2) so far lmao

gets dumped 3 days after my birthday and on the day of our six month anniversary:

All of my former hyper fixation are updated the day I choose to fully cut them off :

[samkerrworshipper]

the monsters gone

part 3 of beautiful girl series -> part 1 -> part 2

leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader (wobbs as moms)

warnings: drug addiction, drug abuse, talks of illicit substances, depression, intrusive thoughts, would not advise for people in a bad mental headspace

You wanted her to leave, or you were desperate for a fix and well aware that it wasn’t going to happen until she was gone and you could retreat up to your room like normal. 

You scratched at the incision on your forearm, it was hidden underneath your hoodie but you could feel it all the same, it made you feel guilty. 

You’d never felt guilty for taking drugs, why would you? It was your choice, your body, your brain that you were fucking with. Yet for some reason, the little mark that you knew was sitting right on top of your vein was making you feel guilty. You didn’t want to admit it, but it felt oddly like the start of something, you weren’t sure what though, whatever it was though, it didn’t feel good. 

When the door clicked open around 2 o’clock you felt far more at peace, watching your mom hobble through the door with Lia following her. Jordan stood up almost immediately and if the room hadn’t already been awkward then the awkwardness found a whole new definition as the two women looked at each other. 

“Hey Jord, thanks for hanging around, you’re looking good.”

Your mom looked relieved to see Jordan, your ma on the other side looked slightly terrified as she eyed up the two women. 

“It wasn’t an issue, you know I love spending time with my chick.”

Leah smiled, looking down at you on the couch, you buried your head in your phone, ignoring her gaze. 

“Whether she admits it or not she likes seeing you as well.”

Your ma laughed awkwardly, it took everything in you to not burst out laughing at all of the tension between the two of them. 

“Look I’ll be heading off, gotta me back in Birmingham for game review tonight but can we talk for a minute though Le?”

Your mom’s head cocked to the side, a look of curiosity evident on her face. 

“Yeah sure, come with me.”

Lia watches them with the same look of curiosity as you, your eyes meeting as the trail back from the doorway to Leah’s office that they both step into. 

“They’re talking about me.”

Lia doesn’t bother trying to ignore you or deny what you’re saying, she nodes her head. 

“Probably, that’s what most parents do.”

It’s a absentminded answer, and for a second your aware that maybe Lia is in on whatever is happening, that she knows exactly what is going on behind the door. If anything important came from the phone call earlier you know Lia would be the first to know, she was like the third parent you never asked for nor wanted, but somehow ended up with. 

“Ma thinks that Mom’s parenting is shit.”

Lia cocks her head, she’s harder to read then your moms, more calculated, more clean, less obviously emotional. 

“She just disagrees with some of the things that your mother does, so do I. Nobody else is in her shoes though, she makes the decisions that are necessary and best for you.”

Lia sounds convinced of her words, even though you doubt them. 

“Ma doesn’t think so.”

Lia bit down on her bottom lip, finishing with tucking her kit bag away so she could focus her attention on you. 

“She worries about you.”

You did your best to suppress the eye roll, it didn’t work. 

“She worries that mom is too nice and isn’t strict enough.”

Sometimes you thought that your mom compensated for the void between the two of you by letting you do whatever you wanted, other times you were reminded by your grandma that she’d told Leah she needed to go easy on you and that not everyone could be as perfect as Leah Williamson. 

“Your mom knows what you need better than anybody else.”

The conversation paused, the two of you flinching at the sound of yelling from the other side of the door, you couldn’t make out what was being said, both of them were yelling though. 

“Set the table for lunch for me, kiddo?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the door, you hadn’t hear your moms yell in a long time, it took you back to when they were breaking up, when they tried to act like they weren’t, when they saved the fighting and yelling for when you’d been tucked into bed and they’d thought you were asleep. 

“Kiddo, table.”

You stood up from the couch, your eyes staying stuck to the door, even as you pulled cutlery from the drawer and laid it out with the placemats on the table. Eventually, the yelling ceased, and the room was over come with a silence like no other, only being broken by the door opening and your two moms walking out, both of them looking far more content considering that it had sounded like they were screaming at each other, not thirty seconds ago. 

“Bubba, Jord is going to head off, if you want to say bye.”

Jordan’s arms opened up to you and as mad and confused as you were, you weren’t going to deny her. You walked around the table, leaning into her hug, wrapping your arms around her the same way she did for you, letting her hold on for a little bit longer. 

“I’ll be back when I can chicky, I love you so much.”

You wanted to tell her she was lying, that they were all lying, they didn’t fucking love you, it was so fucking obvious. But for the sake of keeping the peace you didn’t. 

“I love you too Ma.”

Jordan let go of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The same way she had when they’d adopted you when you were eight, the same way she had after your first game when you were 12, the same way she had when you were 14 and you’d been top of your form and given an award, the same way she had when she’d left for good when you were 16. It was the same kiss, yet everything about it was different, the meaning, the purpose, the intention, it was all different. 

You watched as she walked out the door, the same as every time, you listened to the sound of her car starting and the sound of gravel underneath her tires as she pulled out and onto the road. 

Once you were sure she was gone you turned around, sliding into a seat at the table, across from your mother, staring at her. 

“What were you guys talking about?”

Leah looked at you, poker face as good as ever. 

“Football, some other stuff.”

It was a obvious lie, both you and Lia knew it. 

“You were talking about me, what about me?” Leah rolled her eyes at you. 

“It was a conversation between your Ma and I, not for your ears.”

You didn’t bat an eye as Lia set lunch down in front of you, to fixated on your mother. 

“You don’t yell over nothing, what were you talking about.”

Leah pushed her tongue out against her lips. 

“Your ma had some concerns about you, that’s it, I told her she had nothing to worry about and that we were doing just fine.”

You knew that even if you didn’t want to admit it, Jordan probably had some valid points, your mom seemed unphased though. 

“That’s it?”

Leah looked at you, and you could tell that she was holding something back. 

“She told me that you’d told her you smoked weed last night and that you were vomiting this morning.”

You tried to keep your face from changing, keeping the confident exterior even if you were slightly scared on the inside. 

“I got drunk, I had some fun, it was no biggy.”

Leah’s eyebrow rose in the trademark question. 

“It’s a biggy to me because you told all you were doing was vaping and a little bit of drinking, you said you’d be honest with me and it’s clear you haven’t been.”

You hesitated for a second, the air thickening around you as suddenly the tension was between you and your mother. 

“I was just having some fun mom, I didn’t do anything stupid, I was safe, just like you asked.”

Leah’s face shrivelled up as you used her words against her. 

“You were out with friends I’ve never met, at a house on the opposite side of town that I’ve never been too, Jord said you looked like you’d been on a three day bender and I told her that I didn’t believe her but now you’re here admitting it.”

You reached into your pocket for your vape, desperate for something to take the edge of the conversation off, to make you feel calmer. 

You pulled it out and Leah’s face immediately pointed inwards.

“How many times do I have to say no vape at the table?”

You frowned, shoving it back in your pocket. 

“It was just a bit of weed mom, it’s what kids my age do.”

Leah shook her head. 

“It wasn’t just a bit of weed, I’ve been smelling it on your clothes for weeks and trying to tell myself I was being delusional because you’d told me you were just on the vape, that you had no interest in drugs and yet you were lying to me, you have been for a while bubba and I don’t know how to feel about it to be honest. I thought we were closer than most parents and kids, I thought we had boundaries and that I was giving you enough space, and now I don’t know what to think.”

You pursed your lips, struggling to find words. 

“And if you’re lying to me about weed then what else is there? What else is there you aren’t telling me because there has to be more. I let you drop football, I relaxed on the school because I know you were struggling but this doesn’t work if you aren’t honest with me.” 

You really didn’t know what to say, your mind was in a million different places, the container underneath your bed, the joints on your windowsill hidden behind the curtains, the three vapes in your bedside table, the drug dealer numbers in your phone, what had happened last night, the meth track mark on your arm. 

“Nothing, it was just some weed, I just wanted something to take the edge off, it was no big deal.”

Leah’s eyes closed for a second and you knew this was all about to get a lot harder. 

“Except it was a big deal because you’ve been doing it behind my backs for weeks, I’ve tried to be understanding bubba, I have, I know it’s been tough for you with me and Jords breakup, you’ve had a really hard year, I let the vaping slide, I let your attendance drop at school, but drugs bub, it’s no joke.”

You took a deep breath. 

“It’s just some weed, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Leah wants to say that if you’re this relaxed about being caught doing weed then she doesn’t want to know what else you’re hiding from her that would make you less relaxed, but she keeps it to herself, or for this moment at least. 

“I want you to bring me whatever you have of it, I won’t have you smoking illicit and illegal substances underneath my roof.”

You figured there were worse things that could happen, she could find your stash, she could take your vape, she could ground you or make you go to school. 

“Okay.”

Your mom nodded, happy she had at least won a small battle. 

“After lunch.”

You nod again in agreeance, looking down at the caesar salad in front of you and stabbing your fork down onto it, picking up the different pieces of lettuce and chicken scattered throughout. 

You make it through half the meal before you grab your bowl and pick it up, walking into the kitchen to do you washing up, your mom follows behind you, her bowl empty. 

You take the dish from her, cleaning it out and stacking both of them in the dishwasher, knowing whats to come now. 

You slow yourself down on the stairs giving her the time to follow behind you as she dragged her bad leg up every individual stair. 

Leah had been putting in hours everyday for her rehab, it was her main focus, over everything else. 

Eventually the two of you made it to the top of the stairs, and eventually to your bedroom door.

You hesitated before opening it, you couldn’t remember the last time Leah had been inside it, way before her acl, ever since she’d gotten injured she’d been avoiding the staircase. 

You opened the door, hand pausing on the cold metal doorknob for a split second before pushing it open. 

Your room was still freezing, you didn’t miss how your mother shivered from the breeze that hit her face immediately, coming straight from the open window. 

“Jesus kiddo, you trying to replicate antarctica in here? You know I pay good money for heating, right?”

It’s a lighthearted joke, yet somehow it hurts for you, you don’t know how or why, you just know that it does. 

“I like it cold.”

Leah looks at you, both brows furrowed inwards. 

“Alright then polar bear.”

You try not to flinch away when her hand reaches up to ruffle your hair, it’s something she’s done to you since you were a kid, it feels wrong now though. 

“Let’s just get this over and done with.”

You walk over to your windowsill, reaching behind the curtain and reaching for the bag of joints that you have stashed behind the material. Leah frowns as you walk back over to her, shoving the bag into her hands before she can even ask. 

“This is all of them?”

She looks completely unconvinced, you probably would be too, most kids don’t give up their drugs willingly. 

“Yes.”

Leah looks at you, eye to eye, like she’s trying to reach into your soul, or read your mind. 

“Bubba, this is your chance, I’m giving you an opportunity to be straight with me, and whatever you tell me or give me I won’t be mad about. I might want to sit down and question your decisions, but I won’t be mad. Teenagers are stupid, they make mistakes, they try new things, I get it. Be honest with me bubba, please.”

You didn’t really know what Leah was insinuating, but it was clear that she knew there was a bigger picture here. 

“That’s it mom.”

You had to tear your eyes away from her, you couldn’t handle the way that she was looking at you, the mix of disappointment, resentment and worry mixed into her blue irises. 

“Bubba, don’t make me search your room, don’t make me have to ground you, don’t make me have to call Jord and get her to turn the car around to help me out.”

You brought your eyes back to Leah’s. 

“That’s it mom, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You were lying through your teeth and the fact you couldn’t look eye to eye with Leah would have been enough of a warning sign of that. 

“Drugs bubba, that’s what I’m talking about, you’re lying straight to my fucking face right now, I don’t know what about or why but you are.”

You didn’t know what to say, you weren’t going to admit it, you couldn’t, but you needed to say something. Fuck, you were so fucked. 

You tried to spin it in your head, tried to think about how you could make this work out. You were caught, you were done, this was bad. 

Your eyes darted to below your bed, rookie fucking mistake. 

Leah caught your line of sight, and you knew as soon as she did that it was all about to go to fucking shit, that you were done for. 

“Lia.”

Your mom’s voice was urgent, a yell that had the swiss woman bounding up the stairs in a matter of seconds. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You were so fucking fucked. 

You were frozen in your spot, your mom’s eyes looking at you like she’d just been stabbed in the heart. 

“Bubba, you can get whatever you are hiding from me or I will get Lia to tear this whole room a part, I’m not fucking around.”

You felt torn down the middle, your brain couldn’t think, you felt the same sickness sink in from this morning, instead of it being withdrawals from drugs though it was the realisation that your whole life was about to be turned upside down. 

You tried to think, tried to think about how you could spin this, make it a little bit better than it really was. 

Lia looked more uncomfortable then possible, you wished a blackhole would randomly pop up and swallow all three of you. 

Something hit you, it wasn’t a full resolution but it was better than what you currently had going for you. 

You walked over to your bed, with unsteadier legs then last night when you were so drunk the world was spinning, crouching down when you got to the edge, feeling for the familiar container that held all of your deepest darkest secrets, or at least that’s how it felt. 

It took you back to a time when you’d made Leah check under your bed everynight for the monsters under your bed, now though she was looking for the monsters in your head, the monsters that had turned her little perfect girl into whatever you were now. 

Your hand eventually met the hard plastic, you pulled it out, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stood up and sat down on the edge of your bed. 

Leah took a couple steps closer to you, standing directly in front of you. 

“Look, it’s not mine, I only did it twice, my friends bought it over, I swear.”

Half of it was true. 

“Open the box, bubba.”

You felt your throat tighten, you felt like you were going to vomit, or pass out, or have a heart attack. 

“Mom, I didn’t want to, I don’t even like it, I just did it because my friends were, I swear.”

It was also another half truth. 

“Bubba, open the box.”

You bit down even harder on the inside of your cheek, reaching for the edge of the plastic box and opening it, revealing the two baggies of white powder inside of it. 

Leah’s face fell, in a way that you’d never seen, you’d seen her disappointed before, this wasn’t it, it was something else entirely and you weren’t sure what. 

“Bubba.”

Your mom was a overly emotional person, you couldn’t handle her crying right now though, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t deal with her pretending she gave a shit when this was the first time in months that it felt like she cared, and it was all because of Jordan, not on her own volition. 

“I swear mom, I swear, it’s not mine, I promise.”

It wasn’t a lie, it hadn’t started out as yours, you’re friends had left it behind after a weekend hangout and had never asked for it back, so it technically wasn’t yours, technically. 

“Bubba, what is it?”

Leah reached for the box, picking up the two bags, the bags that you felt like held your whole life together. 

“Cocaine, it’s just a little bit of coke, my friends were using it before parties, I didn’t like it, it made me feel dizzy and it hurt my head.”

The cocaine bit was a lie, but the fact you didn’t like cocaine wasn’t, it was the kind of stimulant which put you into over drive, the high lasted no where near as long and it made you feel like you weren’t making sense.

You were hoping she would believe the cocaine, inevitably, cocaine was a pissy drug. Leah would have been at thousands of parties were cocaine was handed around, hell, you were fairly certain your mother had taken plenty of it. Cocaine was less addictive, good cocaine was also stupidly expensive, the value of it was fucked. Meth was cheap but a thousand times more addictive, cocaine was a better like. 

“Lia, get rid of it.”

Your mom handed the bag of joints over to Lia, as well as the bags of drugs, shoving them into her hands like they were burning her hands. “I don’t even know what to say to you bubba.”

Your mom looked genuinely at a loss for words, her eyes kept darting between your eyes and your hands, which were shaking in front of you. 

“Mom, I promise, it was only a one time thing, really, I was just keeping it for my friends.”

As soon as the tears started spilling down Leah’s face you knew it was about to get bad. 

She walked over to your desk, pulling the chair out from it and dragged it across the room until it was directly in front of you, your mother taking a seat. 

Her hands came out to rest on your knees, they were shaking like yours, not as badly but still shaking, though for different reasons you assumed. 

“You told me the weed was a one time thing, that was a lie. I don’t know what to believe anymore, you’ve put me in a impossible situation, bubba. On one hand, I want to believe you. I want to believe the kid I raised, on the other hand you haven’t given me reason to. You broke my trust, you lied to me, you broke the house rules. I don’t ask a lot of you, I let you get away with more than your ma would let you, and I was fine with it because you were showing me you were a good kid, but now I honestly don’t know what to think. You told me it was just the vapes, I thought you were using a little bit to much nicotine and now it turns out that you’re smoking pot and doing drugs. You’ve been hiding and lying and I just don’t get why. Why bubba? Tell me why.”

Big tears were dripping from your mothers eyes, big, wet, fat tears pooling in her icey blue eyes. 

“I don’t know, okay? I’m sorry mom, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I didn’t mean it, it was just some fun, it was a one time thing, I promise.”

Leah pursed her lips, the same way you were, the sleeve of her shirt was pressed to her face, picking up the tears that were dripping down her jaw. 

“I’m going to go and call your ma, this is a discussion we need to be having together, I need her here for this.”

Little did they know how bad it really was. 

Leah stood up, you thought she would just leave, heading back down to make a call to your ma that would inevitably change your life, instead, she sat down next to you, her arms opening up. 

You leaned into her side, letting her wrap both of her arms around you. 

“I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing you could think of saying, the only thing that sounded right coming off the tip of your tongue. 

“I love you so much my beautiful girl, we’ll figure this out, your ma and I, we’re all going to figure this out.”

Leah held onto you for a little bit longer, her arms tightening onto you like you were holding her down to earth, like she would float away if she didn’t. 

Eventually she let go, her face was puffy and red, her sleeves were red and she sounded all sniffly. 

“I’m going to go and phone Jord, we’re going to sort it all out, we’ll figure this out, okay? We’re both here for you, we both love you so much, you’re our little girl.”

You found it weird how easy it slipped off of her tongue, you wondered if she actually believed that she meant it, you wondered if when your mother said it that she meant it without really meaning it. There were words but there were no actions to support those words, just empty syllables and letters all formed together in a intricate lie. 

You watched as Leah limped her way out of your room, her bad leg trailing behind her good one, rule number one of parenting a child you now know is drug addicted, never leave them alone in a room they can escape from when you’ve just confronted them. 

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an asexual MC

~ this is by no means my personal experience, but after several requests and some wonderful people helping me research, here we are! Hope you enjoy :) - brainrot ~

NOTE: being asexual and being aromantic are two distinct experiences. these headcanons are for an asexual MC, if I write for an aromantic MC, that will be in its own post so it's properly covered ^.^

Julian

This reflects on his own unfortunate dating history, but he's really not used to starting romantic relationships off of something that doesn't involve a physical connection. He's a little confused

He's not stupid, he can tell you two have something special going on, but you don't seem especially interested in taking things to the bedroom and he's not sure what to make of it

Do you just find him physically repulsive, but mentally stimulating? Is it the eyepatch? Because he can lose the eyepatch -

Genuinely relieved once you explain, because it lets him know what your boundaries are and how best he can work towards something real with you without pushing you into something you don't want

If you enjoy steamier things when it's part of you two connecting and expressing your feelings, he's still quick to initiate

He's very understanding when you're not in the mood or up for anything steamy, but it's equally important to him to hear that you still want to spend time loving him, even if it's not in that way

If you don't want to do anything steamy at all, he'll want you to give him clear boundaries so he doesn't accidentally overstep

In the end, his relationship with you is based on your mutual commitment to taking care of each other. That's not changing

Asra

This is ... complicated for them

Don't get him wrong. He loves you, completely and unconditionally, and he would never, ever want you to feel forced. He's just happy he gets a second shot at life with you

At the same time, they have the easiest time expressing their love for you through their physicality

He says "I love you" out loud maybe once a fortnight - but he says it a thousand times daily with gentle touches, kisses brushed to your neck in passing, and casually intimate moments

So realizing as they cared for you that you had no interest in the ultimate physical act of love required a bit of a mental reset

Honestly, he's scared of not being able to love you the way you deserve, and of not feeling loved in return (he'll find it's not true)

If you enjoy steamier things as part of an emotional connection, they are all on board. They're always clear about being open to fun times, but they'll leave it to you to actually initiate stuff

If you don't want to do anything of that nature, he'll avoid the conversation at first but ultimately want to talk to you about what physical affection you are open to. Kisses? Cuddles? Handholding?

Their joy is in your joy. If they can feel you breathing, they're happy

Nadia

Oh. Oh dear, she's gone about wooing you quite the wrong way

Her first instinct on hearing your explanation is to apologize. Her approach to courtship tends to be very sensual, and the thought of you not enjoying such things didn't cross her mind

She's going to want to clear a few things up, too - she knows she took a steamy approach, but she genuinely enjoys you for who you are, regardless of what you are or aren't open to

That said, please sit down and talk to her right away about what your boundaries, preferences, and comfort zones are, because she doesn't want to take any chances on miscommunication

Thankfully, spoiling you doesn't require any physical contact at all

If you're open to fun times as part of a special connection, she's very careful to establish a balanced power dynamic in that area. (Unless you'd still like her to take control :P)

She'll initiate sometimes, but it's always preceded with her asking what mood you're in and if you're in the headspace for it

If you'd rather keep things completely innocent, she'll want detailed boundaries for what physical affection is and isn't okay

She doesn't love you for your body. She loves you for your strength, and your faith in her. Give her that, and she'll give you everything

Muriel

Okay. Sounds good

This is accompanied with a heavy blush because it means you're referencing *adult* things, but he's really not that bothered

If he has any relational issues with it, it would only be after you've been together long enough that he would feel comfortable sharing his body with you if it were an option

Then he might take it into his head that this is your way of saying you don't trust him not to hurt you, or that you find his scars ugly

Obviously, this is not true, and all it takes to prove otherwise is not wincing when you see him or shying away when he gets close

If you enjoy less innocent things when it's a way of being close and enjoying each other, then he's down for that too. He doesn't really get "in the mood" unless you put him in the mood, so there's that

There might be a lot of missed opportunities until one or both of you learns to initiate without worrying about pressuring each other

If you don't like steamy things at all, cool. He likes how relatively uncomplicated that makes the physical side of your relationship, especially when he's still got a complicated view of his body

He's learning to love gentle, safe touch, though, so if things like cuddles and cheek kisses are your jam, then please. Have at it

Portia

Huh. She's pretty sure she's heard of this before, but she's never navigated a relationship where that was something to keep in mind. Tell her more!

She feels the most free to discuss it casually/joke around about it. Gets completely into the garlic bread stereotype and will laughingly bake you some if it's something you like eating

If anything, learning about this makes her feel even more secure in her relationship with you. It tells her all over again that you chose her for who she is, and not some other motivation

That said, she does have needs of her own, and feels just as free talking to you about how she goes about satisfying them solo as long as that's not something you're disgusted hearing about

If you enjoy steamy things with her as part of your connection, she'll go out of her way to really emphasize what the act means with you instead of getting lost in the moment

She'll bring it up fairly often, usually as part of a list of options to do together: do you want normal cuddles, or special cuddles?

If it's something you don't want anything to do with, she's likely to ask you lots of questions about it simply because she's a curious person. You're her partner in crime! That's all that really matters

Lucio

He's about as confused by someone who wants a relationship without adult special fun time as he is confused by people who like to listen to music without dancing along

Don't you feel like you're missing out? Isn't that the whole point of being in a relationship with someone? (spoiler alert: it's not. that's the trauma and lack of self awareness talking)

When he first learns this about you as he gets to know you, he ends up assuming it means that you just don't do romance at all

And then, as his own feelings for you grow and he learns what it means to trust someone enough to be vulnerable around them, he comes to realize that relationships can be so much more than that

If you enjoy adult stuff when it's part of a bigger context, he ends up having to learn how to engage in intimacy that isn't just a greedy scramble to satisfy physical desires

You have a standing invitation to his body, and he'll bring it up frequently, but he finds way more satisfaction in the quiet security of being held by someone he loves, who loves him back

If you're not into it at all, he'll need a solid explanation of what's on and off the table and why before he learns what to and not to initiate. He wants to love you and be loved. That's all

[nanowrimo]

Writing Tips for Every Age and Mental State

Not every piece of writing advice will apply to you —  and that’s okay! Sometimes, your writing strategies will change as you go through life or learn more about yourself. NaNo Participant Clara Ward shares writing advice that they've learned over time.

There’s no right way to write. Writing—like life—is about finding your best fit. What follows are tricks that worked for me. Please borrow what works best for you right now. (Then save a few ideas for future you!)

I wrote my first novel four decades ago, when I was thirteen. I’ve written while juggling three jobs or zero. I’ve written as a kid, a parent, and an empty-nester. I’ve learned from my own neurodiversity and mental health challenges along the way.

Each struggle taught me how to customize my writing practice. Here’s a list of what worked for me at different stages. Adapt as you see fit.

Stage 1: Meet Yourself Where You’re At

Outline - For my first novel, I sketched furtive notes on the back pages of a school notebook. I created headings for each page that became section or chapter titles later. Numbers helped me order the scenes and letters delineated details.

Note: Leave extra space for fun facts or snippets of overheard dialog. Years later, I heard a NaNoWriMo buddy joke, “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.” My apologies to my high school geometry teacher, who received no such warning.

Avoid Distractions - I needed a closed door to write at first. I couldn’t read other fiction during the week or two when I frantically converted my outline into a rough draft. Luckily, I wasn’t in charge of meals back then!

Stage 2: Find Your People

Give Yourself Permission - I first heard about NaNoWriMo in 2004, when I was parenting, working, and volunteering as if there were two extra days in each week. I hadn’t written a story, an outline, or notes in over a year, but I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I signed up for NaNoWriMo and opened a family meeting by showing the webpage to my spouse and kids. I explained how I’d budget four hours a week for writing in November.

Note: I didn’t complete 50,000 words that first November. But the next year, my kids enthusiastically joined the Young Writers Program!

Enlist Support - Eventually, my kids and I designated one hour each day for writing. There were many distractions, but it felt great! We attended NaNoWriMo write-ins at a donut shop to build community, and my kids each persuaded a friend to join. (Yes, donuts are a sometimes food, but at least they weren’t asking for coffee!). With support and determination—and for me, a bit of sleep debt—we all met our writing goals most years!

Stage 3: Embrace Your True Strengths

Emotion Mapping - In the last couple decades, as attitudes and terminology evolved, I’ve learned a lot about my own neurodivergence and mental health. Oddly enough, the self-knowledge I gained by masking and compensating before I knew those words, informed both my writing and the tips given above. As I became more honest with myself, I brought more emotion to my writing.

Note: Sometimes it helps to skip scenes I’m not in a good headspace to write. I jot down key plot and character points inside curly brackets and skip to a scene that suits my current feelings. Since I don’t used curly brackets anywhere else in my writing, they’re easy to search for when I’m ready to go back.

Fascinations - After years of being warned about “info dumps,” I realized that my own fascinations (neurodivergent or otherwise) were assets that could serve my writing. At the beginning of 2020 I did a deep dive into researching sea creatures and ways to protect our oceans. At the back of my research notebook, I gradually outlined my 2020 NaNoWriMo Novel, Be the Sea. Parts of that outline cross-referenced pages of ocean research or articles I’d saved online.

Note: The system above worked well enough for me that I now have a book deal for Be the Sea, which will be published by Atthis Arts in early 2024!

Seriously though, this isn’t a post about how to get published on a 40-year plan. By matching your writing practices to your ever-changing self, you give all your stories the chance to be told. I wish you and your stories that success!

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, The Arcanist, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. Clara’s 2020 NaNoWriMo novel, Be the Sea, will be available from Atthis Arts in early 2024. For updates on this and other projects, follow Clara on their website. Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

[pojofi96]

Finally 😈 a chance to talk about my mans

Short answer is yes obvi but like his character, my thoughts on this are a bit more complicated.

In the flashbacks we see showing his life “before”, he was shown to be an exemplary dad - but of course, this would inevitably change somewhat with being traumatized. Hanzo at his core is a flawed person and the very essence of his story lies in his humanity - most notably, his mistakes and circumstances - and how he copes with his own earned consequences + just straight up awful luck. This is inevitably going to reflect on how he tutors/raises children and MKX Blood Ties illustrates this well with his treatment of Takeda.

Throughout most of Takeda’s shown upbringing, Hanzo is shown to be in a tetchy mental state and it makes him prone to being overly harsh when scolding him for a minor mistake. You get the feeling Hanzo is purposely trying to keep him at a careful emotional distance as strictly “teacher and student”, even though it’s evident that their relationship is more through their own shared needs of familial bonds. It’s not abuse by any stretch of the imagination but the distinction between a “tutor” and a “father” is important to remember when examining their relationship. There’s a plentitude of potential reasons that Hanzo could have for acting like this given his past and what he lost, so you can’t truly blame this aspect of his character for being any fault of his own. Again, he is only a man making sense of the circumstances that were thrust upon him. But this inevitably would affect how he “raises” people.

The comic goes deeper into Hanzo’s mental state and how his hellfire works in the first place - and it’s here that we see something crucial. At it’s core, his utilization of it (i.e. how he has to relive the most traumatic event of his life every time he uses it to put himself in a bad headspace) is counterintuitive by design to his own growth and recovery. His strength, his most defining battle trait, is also what’s dragging him down. Objectively, Hanzo would have to let down his own personal guards (not use his hellfire) to keep from falling back into bad habits. But the current state of his life - strife with combat and the constant threat of sudden gorey death - doesn’t allow room for his emotional growth. On top of that he’s responsible for the well being of a kid, so he doesn’t have room to think about himself - he has to put Takeda first. But that also begs the question of if he had the chance to escape that life - would he? Does he have the capability to let down his hellfire when it’s because of his hellfire that he’s still even alive?

He’s not truly doomed but Hanzo believes to his core that he is and this is one of his biggest obstacles to his self recovery - this belief makes him lash out and self-sabotage - and it keeps him from really making any remarkable progress in getting better.

That being said, I was genuinely surprised to see the reactions for this tweet mostly being unconditionally positive on Hanzo’s side. What I’m trying to say is that Hanzo is far from perfect, he’s far from a perfect mentor and a perfect father. He’s still a good person at heart though - he does his best and Hanzo’s biggest flaw at the end of the day is the result of being human in hellish circumstances. It’s worth noting that Takeda in the end grew up to be an upstanding young man who feels very positively about his father-figure-mentor… so Hanzo did remarkably well overall, a lot better than most people could do in those same conditions. But all the replies being like “Anyone who says no deserves to be executed” feels like they’re missing something crucial about him. Him being attractive doesn’t absolve him of accountability!

In canon, he’s more accurate to the relative that we know has had a rough life that we all have complicated feelings about.

[indigoraysoflight]

Thoughts on the TBOC teaser + sneak peek

There is a ton of fandom discourse on this, and I appreciate you all for taking the time to share your thoughts and perspectives. I discussed a bit of this in episode #26 of our podcast, but I wanted to expand on my perspective here in a nuanced way. If you choose to read this, know that I will be very candid in this post. If your mental health needs a respite from heavy discourse, please take care of your mental health first.

It's absolutely wonderful to have Carol back. The sneak peek was exactly what I expected. It built intrigue from Daryl's POV, expanded on Carol's headspace, and set the stage. But I wish I could be excited about the teaser.

Carol's POV was beautifully nuanced and as angsty as I wanted it to be, but there was a disconnect with Daryl's POV. Although you hear the frustration in his voice, it doesn't sit well with me that a show called The Book of Carol starts with the voiceover + a shot of another character positioned with Daryl in soft lighting gazing at sunset with the juxtaposition of Carol's raw loneliness as she desperately tries to get to him.

Carol's desperation is explicit, clear, and heartbreaking, but there is an imbalance because Daryl's POV needs to convey the same level of need to "find home." Obviously, we don't have enough promo material to define that clearly yet, which is why I'm hoping that people speaking up about their true feelings will help the marketing team position future promo in a way that elicits more overwhelmingly positive reactions from their audience.

I want to make it explicitly clear that my issue here is not with Daryl's character. I'm noticing discourse around how harshly he is judged sometimes, and I agree. My issue is with the way the teaser was spliced together and marketed. My concern for the season is because his character has historically been used to incite fandom wars through shipbaiting in an attempt to please all audiences. Which never worked, festered misogyny and fandom infighting, produced mixed reactions and resulted in Daryl's character paying the price for it.

At the root of it is ambiguity. Their audience was unequivocally united when the first teaser featured the following tagline. There's a reason for it.

To find home is to find each other

It's at the core of Carol and Daryl's relationship. That is the foundation of this show, the connective tissue that the majority of their fans instantly resonated with. It's the key.

I understand that they're at the start of their promo campaign and will continue to map the viewer's journey. Promo content from now on should ideally build hype, give narrative cues/hooks, and build audience awareness and understanding to set expectations for The Book of Carol. So, we may not see this tagline written out on every teaser, but it should still reflect in the content seen on the screen so the viewers make the connection.

In the current teaser, it shows up very sharply for Carol, but with Daryl, that messaging is muddled. This is why it's not resonating with some fans — everyone is interpreting it through their own unique lens.

TWDCaryl

It's nice to see the official accounts use this tag and pro-Caryl copy to promote the show; it's a huge step forward. But again, the feelings need to be reflected in what we see on the screen. If it's generating mixed reactions — the promo content isn't hitting the mark, and in this case, it's too ambiguous.

Any marketing team worth its salt won't give you any inclination of canon, reunion, or interactions between Daryl and Carol during the promo campaign — at least not this early in the campaign. They would want to save your excitement for when those scenes show up on screen.

But I hope the promo that comes out after this gives me more snippets of Daryl's desperation to find his way back. People invest in your brand if they believe they can trust you. Trust is earned. Many people have valid trust issues after the last few years. And this is the way they can build trust with people who have felt betrayed in the past and left the fandom.

The Daryl I know, love and trust

I fell in love with Daryl first. He's one of the strongest characters on the show, not only because of what he endured but also because of his determination to nurture and protect the people he loves. Most of all, because I resonated with his unwavering loyalty to Carol and their family.

The Daryl I know struggles to understand his worth and retreats into the darkness when he is isolated. His demons find him there. Carol is the only one who can pull him out of the darkness, just like Daryl is the only one who can pull her out of hers. They're each other's guiding light. The Daryl I know and love doesn't need to choose. There is no choice. His loyalty to Carol and their family is his first priority. Always.

The articles published by big media outlets surrounding the spinoff often suggest that Daryl is "conflicted". These articles started sprouting after the showrunner's interview, which added more ambiguity to the mix. Every writer added their own understanding of the ambiguity and wrote the articles accordingly, which muddled the messaging even further.

Whether people like it or not, these articles build awareness and set the stage for the show. They're an essential form of digital marketing, offering content that audiences can consume to understand the show. So if they're missing the mark, people consuming these articles will rightfully feel confused about what the season will bring.

A showrunner who gets them

I trust Daryl completely. I know where his heart lies, what his motivations are, and how desperately he wants to get back to Carol and their family. But I don't trust the showrunner who is writing him, and I don't think his motivations align with Daryl's.

Clémence is a talented actress. Her character had the potential to be a strong ally to Daryl and Carol. But her character was twisted to suit the narrative, which included a heavy helping of unnecessary shipbaiting. I'm tired of that.

Melissa's EP status gives me hope for Carol's story, but she's not the showrunner. Norman and Melissa's acting, chemistry, and understanding of their characters and relationship can only do so much.

I really hope they pick a pro-Caryl showrunner who can do justice to Daryl and Carol's story going forward and fill it with the love, vulnerability, gentleness, and deep richness it deserves. I'd personally like to see a progressive female showrunner who isn't afraid to support Caryl and write nuanced female characters who can hold their own regardless of the circumstances.

My hopes and fears for Caryl's future

I love Daryl to pieces, but I'll be honest and say I love Carol more. If you've ever listened to the podcast, that is clear. I'm so happy to have Melissa back. I cannot wait to see Norman and Melissa act together. But, to me, this season is make-or-break. It's a chance for the network to show their audience they're listening and ready to deliver satisfying, undeniable canon for Caryl.

I don't know if your thoughts align with what I said, but I think most of us can agree that we're absolutely tired of shipbaiting, ambiguity, and seasons that promise but don't deliver explicit moments between Caryl.

I hope to god this season proves me wrong. I hope they hear the thoughts that Carylers are bravely sharing here and adjust course accordingly, not only in the promo circuit but beyond. Because whether the posts are more positively inclined or negatively inclined, the ones I read more or less hit this note — Daryl loves Carol deeply, and they will fight the world to find each other, because they are each other's home. Always.

Whether any of this resonates with you or not, I encourage you to share your own thoughts and remember to tag caryl. Share why they are important to you, why you want them to go canon and what this show and these characters mean to you. Speak from the heart and share whatever you're comfortable with because your voice has power, and you deserve to take up space.

2024 is the year of Caryl. So many have waited a long time for it. Let's hope they honour that.

To those who are genuinely excited, I'm glad you're able to find something to hold on to. I wish I could join in, but I have to be honest about my reservations to honour how I feel about this. If you took the time to read this, I thank you. Stay safe and be well. ❤️

[freeuselandonorris]

Fic ask game: how do you approach writing the balance between the character’s internal thoughts/feelings vs the physical sensations they’re experiencing? I feel like in my own writing I’m always yoyoing between the two and it’s so hard to make it balanced/immersive. You always manage to convey character headspaces so strongly and I’m wondering about the process for that

ahh thank you anon, that’s such a lovely compliment!

i actually pretty rarely directly describe thoughts and feelings. generally it’s quite a clunky way of pulling the reader into the narrative, because it can just end up as reportage, where it just ends up as a kind of list of “lando felt x. oscar did y. lando felt z.” - obviously i’m vastly oversimplifying here but pace-wise, you see how there’s nothing actually moving the narrative on? where i do use it, it’s where a character IS stuck in their own head, usually on their own, and we’re not meant to be seeing the story move on yet.

so for instance, in the first section of it’s just self-defence until you’re building a weapon (sorry, AO3 is down again so i can’t link, i’m using my gdocs here!) you have a lot of lando’s thoughts and feelings because he’s in a mental spiral, and he’s not talking to anyone else about it yet:

It’s there, the feeling, as he drives into parc fermé, huge and heavy and bad. He breathes, in-hold-out-hold, moves his thumbs through the familiar pattern of button-pressing and menu-scrolling to put the car into neutral. For a minute he thinks he might burst into frustrated tears, in which case he’s gonna have to find an excuse to stay in the car a bit longer before someone sticks a camera in his face – but then the anger and adrenaline drain abruptly from his body like pulling a plug out of a sink full of water, and he wants very badly to see Oscar.

but as soon as oscar makes an appearance in the next paragraph (i.e. driving into parc ferme next to him), we’re into the bodily: lando’s out of the car, he feels like someone’s dumping freezing water down his back, his chest’s aching.

this ‘bodily’ description — describing the physical sensations rather than just reporting on what’s caused them — will instantly make your writing more immersive. it’s a good twofer because you can describe actions at the same time (i do massively overuse adverbs!) but also it’s just a lot easier for a reader’s brain to unconsciously ‘feel’ the clench of an anxious stomach or that low-belly kick of lust when you see someone you really wanna fuck, rather than you telling them “he really wanted to fuck oscar” and the reader having to work out for themselves how that feels, ygm?

so if you contrast that quote above ^ with this one from some poor sucker at the bottom of the lake:

There’s a sort of tussle, afterwards. Lando drags him down and Oscar allows himself to be dragged, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, Lando ends up pinned, Oscar’s soaked gym shirt in his mouth, Oscar’s hand shoved inside his shorts. When he comes, an uncontrollable noise rips itself from his throat, and he bites down to muffle it. In the rush of sensation, he barely even notices he’s doing it.

we’re getting a lot about both of them with no direct description of what either of them are thinking until right until the end. i use quite violent verbs — dragged, pinned, shoved, rips, uncontrollable — and they do the job for me, without me having to spell it out. we can tell how they’re feeling, that they’re both half-feral and not really thinking straight, that they’re pissed off with each other as much as they want each other, the frustration and the way they can’t leave each other alone.

something else i like doing occasionally is to use a ‘thought metaphor’ (a term i have just invented, i’m sure there’s a proper technical term for it):

Oscar nods, dry-mouthed, watching the way Lando’s face sags with relief. He tips forward until he’s braced over Oscar’s body and moves his hips in a slow, muscular roll. It makes Oscar think of nature documentaries: one creature, pinned down by another.

so at the end there i could have just said “oscar feels pinned, like something from a nature documentary” and it would’ve worked pretty well, but by having him think of something adjacent (animalistic sex -> nature documentary, and then looping back round to -> THEREFORE they’re both creatures) you can kind of do something a bit more exciting that allows the reader to go OH okay, instead of just telling them. if that makes sense??

okay this is already far too long so i’ll stop now lmao BUT i hope at least something in here was useful??

ama about my fics!

[usmsgutterson]

I think I might have fallen in love- realization fics! Fics with this prompt can be the realization of anything--a characters imminent death, the moment wherein someone realizes they've been betrayed, or they can be super fluffy and detail the moment a character realizes they're in love, the moment where they realize they can see a future with the reader--perhaps one that entails settling down or one that involves leaving the past behind--, the moment where they realize that they want to marry them! Anything goes with this prompt, and I'll write 1-5k words using it!

OKAY- what about nikolai x reader. and it's where he realizes he wants to marry her. maybe r thinks of a solution to some matter of state and he watches in awe how she handles the questions and gets the other's attention. and he's just like "yep. i'm gonna make her my bride" or something like that :)

Motion- N.L x fem! reader

okay, hi! This came out a bit later than I meant for it to--I decided a few weeks ago to plan out a duology to try to complete during NaNoWriMo and that took up a lot of my headspace, where trying to make sure my mental health was on track and I was breathing in something other than stale apartment air took up the rest of it. However, I am so sorry for how late this is coming out regardless!

On another note, my requests close next friday! They close at 11:30 pm AST (which is around 7:30 PST) and hopefully, what remains of my requests will be done by that point. Fall event requests are open until the second and my holiday event will come out sometime between the 24th of November and the 1st of December.

Fic type- fluff

Warnings- none

You and Nikolai were sitting in a meeting, debating with the Grisha triumvirate and several other relevant court members who sat in on Ravkas ever growing list of issues. You'd thrummed your way from matters of inter-palace discontent through matters of civilian discontent and you were up to matters of state.

Nikolai was getting bored watching everyone bicker, each of them trying to stop one another from getting a word in, but you looked as though you'd just gotten started. Nikolai could've sworn you were smirking slightly as you watched Zoya snap at a general, ready to throw a gust of wind at him--one so powerful that it knocked him through the meeting room wall--and barely managing to restrain herself. You looked as though, despite the fact that you weren't Grisha, you were ready to do the same thing.

Genya looked ready to tailor someone into a very ugly version of themself and David simply looked as though he wanted to go back to his work, like he was mad at the fact of his obligations as a member of the triumvirate for pulling him away from it.

"And before you start, Novikov," you started. Nikolai turned his attention to you, smile on his face. "Let me talk my way through this, yeah? You start talking and you might find yourself unable to fill your britches because you simply don't know enough. It's not a matter of the people--it's a matter of the funds we're able to allocate to the cities. If we can allocate enough to cities both big and small then we're setting ourselves up for an economic boom that starts at the big cities, moves to the small ones. It moves to the towns, and from the towns it moves back to us."

"How do you expect Ravka of all places to be able to do such a thing?" Novikov asks, bushy eyebrows furrowed at your suggestion.

"We can get tourists in," you said. "Ravka is broke--that is absolutely not a surprise to anyone in this room. However, to appeal to those who can only afford to take one vacation a year we advertise the cities. The ones with good-quality but still cheap hotels, honest working parents and saintstales as old as the country itself."

"And what of the rich folks?" David asked. "I mean--we can't advertise Ravka for tourism without aiming somewhere that will actually make a difference one trip on, can we?"

"Palace tours," you said. "The Grand Palace--we can make it a tourist spot Friday through Monday, twelve hours, with options for individual touring, group touring, or guided versions of the same. I'll be a bloody guide if I need to, but I know that there are people somewhere who are passionate about Ravkas history to be willing to volunteer their time."

'And how long is this going to take to pay off our debts?" Novikov asked. "I mean--nobody will go for it if it takes us longer than a decade."

"If it takes us longer than a decade, the youngest of us in the room have a chance at seeing it in the last year or two before we hit forty," Genya said. "Nikolai is twenty-four at the current, which means it would take sixteen years if it were to be such a strenuous plan."

"It's not," You said. "Tours of the palace will take two hours going at a slow pace if my walks of the Grand Palace are to have proved anything. If we get six volunteers, then that's one to cover every tour everyday. Ticket prices can be set at 20 coin for a general admission, 10 for children and fifteen for seniors. Max the group allowance at groups of ten and that ranges from 100-200 coin just off the gate. Take that and multiply it by six, and we have 600-1200 coin going back into the coffers of those to whom Ravka is indebted. It'll be volunteer based because the saints know we cannot afford to pay the guides but I would do a twelve hour workday just to prove that my idea is the right move."

"And what benefits could we offer in place of wages?"

"A hot meal when shifts are done, a room at the Little Palace and food by an irrefutable line of direction. We could also put them on palace staffing lists officially so they'd at least be making the minimum wage, but I think that such would constitute as fraudulent somewhere."

Nikolai was deep in thought when you brought up that last point, but with one squeeze from your hand he was back to reality.

"If they would be willing to take a room in the Little Palace for the duration of time during which tours take place, then it wouldn't violate any laws--they'd be working within the palaces, allowing their placement onto the palace staff."

"What is your estimate on how long it would take?" Novikov asked. "On how long the combination of marketing the cities and the palace tours would take to pay off our debts and refill the war treasury?"

Nikolai had been looking at you how he always did--like you were the love of his life. As he watched you answer what both of you had hoped tto be Novikovs last question, he came to a realization.

"A minimum of five years," you said. "And that is with the tours going all year round. If we could have the tours going daily it would probably still be the same such estimate--we're more than one million kruge in debt with Kerch, double that with Novyi Zem, Novikov. The process for clearing Ravka of it's debts is not something that will be instantaneous unless you're willing to sell your home and give the funds to the cause? According to reports I've seen, your home could have us reasonably jumped forward if you sell it for it's maximum monetary value?"

Nikolai could see it right in front of him--two years from then, a ceremony. Watching you walk down the isle, a coronation where you were crowned as queen. A life as your husband, a life with you as his wife.

He glanced at the ring finger on his left hand--it was looking awfully bare, but if you said yes when Nikolai proposed, which he decided he would do right then, it would not look bare for the rest of his life.

"All in favor?" Nikolai asks, giving your hand a squeeze as the thought solidifies itself fully in his mind.

I am going to make her my bride.

Everyone, including a rather embarrassed Novikov, said "I" and you grinned victoriously.

Your plan was barely in motion, but it was starting to gain traction still. As Nikolai pressed a kiss to your cheekbone and the two of you moved to leave the meeting room, the same could be said of his.

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

A discussion of media analysis of S1 vs S2 OFMD. [based on a twitter rant I saw someone go on about fandoms falling apart]

My issue is I'm a little media analysis pig.

I will dig and dig and DIG so hard for any tiny truffle that I will become obsessive. Because I fucking *love* writing and media analysis, I love the *implications* of stories. It's awful, a major 'waste of time', and I love it.

Then I'll turn around and share my opinions only to find out that, wow, I kind of look like a hater? That me 'overthinking' themes, arcs and motifs is me not being a real fan?

Like, in S1, any Izzy meta I wrote was received with the usual death threats, yeah. But at the same time, OFMD itself was a stable enough story that if you didn't get Izzy's POV you still had something there. We had people who were fans of Frenchie, Wee John, and Roach. Characters who barely had any screen time, but we felt we knew them. You can tear S1 apart and it still holds together in a way S2 just doesn't.

The only meta I'm left with for S2, Izzy or side character-wise, is just discussing why it didn't feel like a satisfying story compared to S1, and that's not a fun headspace to spend all your time.

I fucking LOVE grim dark stories in my fic, especially with Izzy/Ed but I think we can all admit, the show never wanted to give that relationship the depth that episodes 1-3 gave it. It pulled back, and we were all left confused. This fucked over the rest of the season.

Even with our main couple, I'm left stumped. Fuck, there's a reason I have written a small piece on Stede but haven't written my bit on Ed. I want to write it, but I know that once I start, I won't stop. That, and everyone seems to have put aside how shitty his arc was.

Now that we have BTS content, my little fan heart is happy to see that yes, there was still something fun here. That same close-knit family vibes I got from S1's crew, while sadly not on screen, was behind the camera this whole time. This story still has the *chance* to fix itself, in my eyes. To become about finding community and love again. But it has a LOT of work to do to make me believe that Stede and Ed could ever love each other long term.

Mentally, yeah, I've put S2 in it's own little box and have started to enjoy the queer love and community present within this fandom. Especially after learning how much the queer actors on screen were allowing themselves to shine through, but it makes me a bit bitter that *this* is what the show decided to do with it.

[familyabolisher]

can you elaborate your thoughts on 'the bear' show? i keep seeing it all over my dash and it looks interesting but i wanna know what to look out for since you said the politics isn't handled well.

having now watched all of the second season—a major problem sticking out to me is that the show can’t quite decide what tone it wants to strike. in season one, you had these dream sequences intended to communicate carmy’s [in]ability to process his feelings about michael, spliced with an otherwise v realist tone—but the show never really leant into either consistently using a surrealist external world to represent something internal to a character or going straightforwardly realist. season two has, eg., a moment where syd sees the text on the rapidly generating tickets change from table orders to like “fuck” over and over, and, like—it’s the same thing again, it’s the use of an obviously not ‘literal’ physical space communicating the mental headspace of the character whose perspective we briefly occupy, but, like, the show can’t quite commit to the tone that this slightly trickier technique demands, so it just feels awkward and clumsy and like a cheap way of communicating a character’s internal state. i thought the bit in season one where carmy dreams he’s on a cooking show that goes horribly wrong was really tonally effective and an excellent segue into the rest of the episode, but, like, they just kind of pull this conceit out when they need it and ignore it when they don’t. and i wish they’d try to do more with it! shit or get off the pot.

the dialogue is also just … pretty weak at points. there’s a lot of like, characters launching into anecdotes as a technique of exposition, which … i can put up with once or twice, but when it just keeps happening, i can’t help but think of it as lazy writing. season 2 also seemed to spread itself far too thin; we have different episodes dedicated to different secondary characters, which if handled well could be effective—the idea is that they’re a team, that everyone contributes something and everyone has to pull their weight, and we spend time with each individual before seeing how it all comes together at the end. that did kind of half-land in the final episode, but on an individual level, the episodes just weren’t tightly constructed enough for any one storyline to feel complete. tina and marcus in particular felt … underused, underdeveloped, i feel like i barely have more of a sense of their characters than i did at the end of season 1. marcus’ episode especially felt incredibly flat; we learnt (through Dialogue Exposition) about his relationship to his terminally ill mother, which i think worked well enough, but other than that, the process of learning new baking techniques felt half-assed and lacked any real tension, will poulter’s character was completely forgettable. glad we got some pretty shots of copenhagen, but like, what was the point.

ideologically it sucks lol. there’s a chef who’s fired for doing drugs which the narrative is v much fine with, there’s pithy comments about people coming into the restaurant in groups and buying one thing so they can sit around, there’s … just no real sense of the ways in which restaurants are classed spaces, service work is a denigrated form of labour, hospitality is a v abusive industry … richie’s episode in season 2 focuses on him learning some nauseatingly bootlicky hospitality shit as a barometer of Character Growth to the point that i was laughing when i watched it because i couldn’t take it seriously at all. (there’s a line where a manager says that serving fine dining guests can be compared to looking after people in hospital in terms of the level of care you bring to the job … i guess that’s why they call it … Hospitality … and i was just sat there cackling. like, be serious.) there’s just no drive to interrogate the hospitality industry & how the impression of servitude and deference is built into the world of fine dining and what that means, no serious criticism of restaurant work beyond carmy’s flashbacks to chefs being abusive to him that become a discursive dead end when the show doesn’t develop them to tackle the nature of fine dining itself.

my final big problem is that it’s very thematically flimsy. the conceit of the show is that carmy has to interrupt his career as a fine-dining chef to come and work at michael’s v modest sandwich shop whilst emotionally processing his suicide—so it seems pretty clear to me that this would play with tensions between the culture of fine dining and that of a failing sandwich shop, right? like, clashes when the fine dining chef tries to bring fine dining techniques to the new place, in the end we all learn a valuable lesson about what we can all teach each other or whatever? and season 1 does do this, but even at the points where it seems to want to criticise the fine dining industry, by season 2 it seems to have pretty definitively joined the war on fine dining on the side of the fine dining. there’s not really a drive in season 2 to interrogate what it means to turn a neighbourhood sandwich shop into a fine dining establishment; how do regulars feel about this? what about the locals who might now be priced out of it? what about the question of gentrification? none of these are ever really brought to the forefront. in season 1, we got the sense that carmy’s fine dining world was sterile and alien where it wasn’t actively abusive, and the sandwich shop allowed him to escape that world—so why aren’t we asking questions about what kind of restaurant culture is really valuable, what really makes for good hospitality? even in a show that obviously doesn’t want to ask serious questions about restaurants under capitalism, there are all these little channels of negotiation that season 1 seemed to set up only for season 2 to let them drop.

so, yeah. i’m not convinced the show really has a strong sense of direction. season 2 felt very all over the place, and seemed to want to juggle so many things at once that it ended up not really landing any of them.

[cecekeating]

My 609 Jordayla thoughts and breakdown pt 2

We are now at the final Jordayla scene. I am not even joking when I say this scene is probably one of my favourite AA scene in S6 and overall favourite Jordayla scene. There was so much about the dynamic of Jordayla that was displayed on here without saying too much. Shoutout to Daniel Ezra who I thought did a fantastic job with directing this scene. Some of my favourite shots of Jordayla are from this scene.

So we have Jordan walk into the room and immediately he finds Layla looking at the mirror, putting final touches to her look. The framing with the mirror?? chef’s kiss

Jordan looking at Layla like she is the sun, star and the moon is another core part of the Jordayla dynamic. So I absolutely loved that despite the confusion, Jordan still had that moment to gaze at her and give that sweet compliment. Layla panics and runs to hide from Jordan. Again, the shot of Jordan and Layla with her in the walk in closet?? chef’s kiss

A short chat between her and Jordan and Layla finds out he already knows about the surprise wedding plans. Jordan goes to the closet and gets his baby girl. Once she is settled, he calmly asks her what is going on. Something I want to point out here is how soft Jordan is with Layla. Remember Layla is already in a weird headspace about her and Jordan. Jordan approaching the situation with softness and kindness allowed Layla to feel safe to be vulnerable and explain what was going on in her head. 

I can’t even begin to imagine how this would have gone if Jordan was stern with her or annoyed or if he even laughed at her. At this moment, he knew what he needed to give Layla was a safe space to speak without judgment. Layla opens up immediately that she wants to marry him and with a sweet smile, Jordan reminds her he wants the same. But he also reminds her of her plan to heal while putting the wedding stuff on hold. Again, he is placing her mental health as a top priority. Layla is honest about her concerns and fears with Jordan. She doesn’t want to lose Jordan. This level of vulnerability from Layla is something I have never seen from the character since I started the show and personally, I think it is so heartwarming that despite all she has been through, Layla has found her safe place with Jordan and is so receptive of the love he shows her. Layla says they can get married today and prove they are not like her parents.

This was where I had to applaud Jordan. Again, as a brutally honest character, he is frank with her. He lovingly tells her that he wants her to be his wife only when she, Layla, recognizes that there is nothing else she’d want than to be his wife. For Jordan, Layla must realize for herself that she wants to be Mrs. Baker for herself and not because she is trying to prove a point, or she is scared. At this point, you can see Layla nod and it feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulder. She knows now that Jordan still wants to marry her. Her fears are alleviated. She is now a bit upset that she overreacted to Charissa’s comment. She feels she should be better by now. When Layla said this, I felt so seen by that comment because I remember being in recovery after dealing with mental health issues and being frustrated at my progress. I had to learn that recovery is a work in progress and that was what Jordan sort of reminded Layla. He reminded her that the therapy is working, and she will slowly get back to her old self again. Being with Jordan is allowing Layla to go through the process with so much emotional support, something that she didn’t have in season 2. I thought the song playing in the background “You are not alone” was a perfect backdrop to the scene especially when you consider how Layla has always fought her battles with mental health on her own. Now Layla is learning to face the situation with her mental health instead of distracting herself with other things while having a partner who is absolutely devoted to her.

A big thank you to the writing team for showing how empathy, kindness and understanding goes a long way in mental health recovery. All through episodes 608-609, Jordan has shown so much understanding for the situation Layla is in. He has not judged her or laughed at her or been angry with her. He has given her a safe space to process her emotions and feelings as she works through getting better. And Layla has responded to all this by being more open and vulnerable, something she never really had to do in the past. Jordan has given Layla exactly what she needs at this time: empathy, honesty and kindness. Remember in season 2, episode 9 when he told Olivia that she needed to be honest with Layla as honesty was a part of recovery? Here we have him being lovingly honest with Layla as she works through recovery again. Thank you writers for the consistency. 

Jordan reminds Layla that he loves her. I don’t know if it is just me but the I love you from Jordayla just hits different. Like when they say it, it carries a lot of weight and you know they mean it. It doesn’t feel shallow one bit! He tells her they don’t need to get married to prove they are not her parents because everyday, they are proving they are not. Layla involving Jordan in this part of her life was such a wise decision because when she is in her head, Jordan is there to bring her back to earth and help her get clarity.

Thank you to the writers for continuing with the consistency with Layla/Jordayla. I am loving as their story unfolds this season and I am excited to see what else is next in store for Jordayla 🙂

[minminyoonjii]

Stray Love Haven Day 28 : [Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader/Lee Minho/Seo Changbin]

🔗https://archiveofourown.org/works/42120486

💗Series Masterlist

🌹CW Daddy Dom Little Girl|Orgasm Control|Descriptive Anxiety Attack|Headspaces|Domestic Setting|Oral Fixation|Non-Sexual Bath Scene|Fluff Galore|Aftercare 💛AN This is a follow-up to the previous day. I highly recommend reading that day to get the whole picture but if you don't wish to that's valid. Enjoy your stay. 💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.7K

"Take a seat, little one," Chan said, tapping his thigh. You pursed your lips, sitting on his lap "Where are the others?" you questioned, taking his hand into yours. Felix hummed, "Out, they had things to settle," he said, handing you a glass of water. "So it's only us?" you asked, seeing Minho and Changbin sit across from you. Changbin nodded, "You probably know why you're here right?" he asked, leaning forward.

You fidgeted with Chan's fingers "I think so," you mumbled, feeling intimidated under their gaze. "Relax little one. You didn't do anything wrong, in fact, we were the ones who fucked up," Chan said, pulling you closer to his chest. You furrowed your eyebrows "What do you mean?" you asked, noticing that they averted their gaze. Minho sighed, "Princess, we may have conditioned you into orgasm control," he explained.

You bounced your knee, letting Minho's words sink in "You're not going to use it against me are you?" you whispered, anxiety building gradually. Changbin shook his head "Never," he said firmly, breaking you out of your daze. You bit your tongue, shuddering "How did it happen?" you asked, turning your gaze to Felix. He pursed his lips "I don't want to trigger it, sweetheart," he said, frowning.

You clenched your jaw, "Just say it, Lee Yongbok," you gritted, hand reaching up your neck. "Don't," Chan growled, keeping your hands down. You sniffled, whimpering "I have to know," you cried, squirming out of his hold. Chan rocked your body "Breathe, little one," he soothed, slowing his breath so you could match. Your lips wobbled, taking deep and slow breaths "There's my sweet girl," he whispered.

"Okay, okay," you sighed, hands trembling against Chan's. You shuddered, wiping your tears away "Please, I'm giving you vivid consent Pixie, please," you whispered. Felix looked at his hyungs, questioning if he should comply. Chan nodded, "She'll be alright," he reassured, letting both you and Felix know that you were safe. Felix nodded back "I'm going to count you down. At least that way it wouldn't be abrupt," he explained, keeping eye contact with you.

You nodded, mentally bracing yourself "Alright," you whispered, tightening your hold around Chan's hand. "One," Felix started, watching your every reaction. The others in the room did the same, adrenaline pumping in their veins. "Three," he continues, steadily counting up to ten. You gulped, focusing on Felix's voice. "Six," he said, knowing he was more than halfway there. Your vision was dazed, blankly zoning into Felix's smooth tone.

"Nine," Felix said, hearing his heartbeat pound within his eardrums. "Ten," he growled, keeping the tension high. "Cum for us, sweetheart," he commanded. You gasped, breath hitching "Fuck," you whimpered, body convulsing as you came. Your pussy contracted around nothing, but your orgasm was still intense. Your thighs quivered, sending shockwaves through your nerves. Chan rubbed your sides, bringing you down from your high "Good girl," he praised.

You shivered, panties sopping wet with slick. "Are you with us, sweetheart?" Felix asked, staring at you with worry. You nodded, curling into Chan's hold "Yeah," you said, still catching your breath. Chan hummed, looking at you "We will never use that command on you unless you give us consent too," he said, brushing your hair from your face. You nodded, tucking your face into the crook of his neck "I trust you all but that was horrific," you whispered, gripping Chan's shirt.

He nodded, rocking your body once more "Thank you for trusting us. You're one of us now. We're going to give you the same respect and love we give each other, little one," he said, kissing your forehead. You sniffled, curling into Chan's chest. Minho walked towards you "Princess, can we get a hug too?" he asked, rubbing your back. Chan chuckled, "Go on, little one. Give our boys some TLC too," he said, sitting up.

You whined but settled when Minho coddled you on his lap "Our sweet princess," he cooed, booping your nose. You wrinkled your nose, licking your lips as you eyed Minho's hand. "I know that look," Minho chuckled, bringing his fingers to your lips "Open up," he said, slipping his fingers into your mouth. You preened, sucking on Minho's fingers. Felix squealed, holding back his urge to squish your cheeks as you nibbled on the pads of Minho's palm.

Changbin chuckled, rubbing your thighs "Precious little one has a teething problem like our boys," he said, tickling your sides. You whined, glaring at Changbin "No tickles, daddy," you huffed, sinking your teeth back into Minho's hand. Chan chuckled, taking a hair tie "Sit up baby, your hair is getting everywhere," he said, combing through your tangled hair. You whimpered whenever Chan tugged too hard, causing him to apologize and pamper kisses all over your face.

Felix went up to his room, "Ah, ha!" he cheered, holding an unopened teething toy. "Look what I got," he said, handing you the toy after he rinsed it. You released Minho's hand and sunk your teeth into the silicone. Minho chuckled, looking at his thoroughly nipped hand "People are going to question the random hickeys on my hand," he said, noticing the small purplish-red spots blooming under his skin. Changbin snorted, "Just say you got a new kitten with an oral fixation," he teased.

You squinted your eyes, feeling drowsy from the warm atmosphere. Chan noticed, pulling you back in his lap "Don't sleep yet, little one. You still need to wash up and have lunch," he chuckled, seeing your eyes struggle to open. Felix cupped your cheeks "I picked out your clothes and the tub is running. Stay awake a bit longer, sweetheart," he chuckled, making your lips pucker within his hold. Changbin stood up stretching, "Hyung, let's make lunch while they get ready," he said, pulling Minho to his feet.

Minho groaned, "I hate it," he whined but followed nonetheless. Felix opened Chan's door, "Be careful not to drop her, hyung," he teased, seeing Chan struggle a bit to lift you up the stairs. Chan rolled his eyes, "Oh shut up, mate," he scoffed, reaching his room. Felix cackled, slumping onto Chan's bed as he laughed. Chan sighed, shaking his head "I think there's a bath bomb in my room that I haven't used yet. Do you want it in your tub?" he asked, helping you out of the shorts Jeongin helped you in.

You nodded, teether latched between your teeth. Felix cooed "Arms up, sweetie," he said, removing the hoodie. You shivered, feeling the warmth strip away from your body. Chan chuckled, holding the bath bomb in hand "Look darling, it's a wolf. Do you think there's a toy in it?" he asked, lifting you up to the tub. You perked up, "Toy?" you asked, seeing the water fizz into multiple colours. Felix cooed, "That's right, maybe you'd get a toy. Who knows," he said, pouring water over your shoulders.

You held the melting fizzy mush in your hands, hoping there would be a toy within it. Chan gasped, "What's that, little one?" he asked, taking the black bag floating to the surface. You watched as Chan opened the bag, waiting eagerly to see what was inside. "A wolf bath toy," he said, placing it in your hands. You giggled around the teether, placing the wolf in the water. Felix found your expression absolutely endearing.

"Appa, look," you slurred, making waves so that the toy would sway. Chan cooed, patting your head "That's so cool, little one," he said, engaging in your enthusiasm. Felix pondered, observing your behaviour "Hyung do you think she has some sort of headspace?" he whispered, not wanting to break you out of your trance. Chan hummed, looking back at you "Perhaps," he said, chuckling as a bubble popped on your face.

You whined, tasting the bitter suds on your tongue when it popped "Papa," you huffed. Chan raised an eyebrow "I think that's you, Pixie," he said. Felix pointed to himself, "Me?" he questioned. You pointed to Felix "Papa," you said, squeaking the bath toy in your hand. Felix's mouth gaped "She's calling for you, Pixie," Chan teased, preparing the towels needed. Felix closed his mouth, paying his attention to you "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Soap got in my mouth," you slurred, sticking out your tongue. Felix took a glass of clean water "Gurgle this and spit it out, sweetie," he said, helping you out of the tub. You nodded, following as told "Good job," Chan praised, wrapping the towels around you. Felix chuckled, setting the glass aside "Her clothes are on your bed, hyung," he said. Chan hummed, "Let's get you dressed, yeah?" he smiled, dressing you up.

Minho knocked on the door "Can we come in?" he asked, holding a tray of food. Felix opened Chan's door "Is that food for us too?" he asked, giving Minho his doe eyes. Minho glared at him, not bothering to answer his question as he walked in. Changbin chuckled, seeing Felix's stunned expression "We made enough for all of us, Pixie," he said, setting his tray next to Minho's. You rubbed your eyes, sleep catching up to you once more.

"Just a bit more, princess," Minho cooed, feeding you a spoonful of bibimbap. You whined, chewing on the food languidly. Changbin nudged Chan's shoulder "Look at her," he whispered. Chan looked down, seeing your cheeks puff up with rice as you chewed. Felix snapped a few pictures but accidentally turned his flash on, waking you up. You grumbled, sitting straight to swallow the food "I think it's time you take a nap, little one," Changbin cooed, helping you take a sip of water.

Chan tucked you under his sheets, placing his wolf plush within your arms "Sweet dreams, baby girl," he whispered. You fell asleep shortly after, soft snores muffled against the blankets. "They should be home by now," Felix said, checking the time. Minho hummed, setting the empty bowls on the tray "There are leftovers if they ever get hungry," he said, leaning into Changbin's arms. "Our little family feels whole," Chan said, taking another bite of his bibimbap. Changbin chuckled, seeing Chan's ears tint red "It sure does," he said, pulling Minho closer.

[8-bit-daycare]

Little one (while in big headspace) got themselves a new outfit, it's very cute but not a typical "little outfit". Still, when they show it to their cg, they immediately get into the cg headspace. Somehow this outfit is just to adorable not to do so. Cg manages to help little one slip with cuddles, forehead kisses, playtime, cute nicknames, etc. And they enjoy an unexpected little evening.

Cosette went shopping and found a sweater they absolutely fell in love with. It was a fuzzy brown sweater that went down to their knees. They bought it with the last spare money they had, and ran home. They couldn’t explain why—it wasn’t a onesie or a tutu or overalls—but they couldn’t wait to regress in it. 

They got home and changed, putting pink tights underneath it and pinning their hair back, and Elwin walked through the front door as they came out of the bedroom.

“Papa!” They called happily and waved. 

Elwin looked at them, at first casually then stopping to take them in. He smiled a little. He loved Cosette so much, and despite having a hard day at work, he wanted to take care of them. 

“Hi, little one,” Elwin said, putting his stuff down and coming to hug Cosette. “How are you?” 

“I’m okay,” they mumbled, hugging him back tight. 

“How tired are you?” 

Cosette had chronic fatigue. Due to all their mental illnesses, they were constantly tired. 

“I don’t know, pretty tired. Why?” 

“Too tired to play pretend?” 

They gasped. “No, I can play pretend! Can we play restaurant!” 

“Of course, baby bug. Go get your toys, I’ll put some stuffies down. Should I also be a guest?” 

“Yeah!” 

They ran and got all their play food, cash register, and dishes, bringing them all into the living room. They set up a little station to put the food together and let people pay. 

Cosette brought their pad over to Papa Elwin, who’s black eyeshadow was smudged and hair, same color, a mess. They hesitated. “Papa, are you too tired?” 

“No, kiddo.” He smiled. “I always love spending time with my little love.” 

They giggled. “Okay! What do you want to eat?” 

“Hmmm….” He looked over the menu that Cosette had hand drawn. “It all looks so good! You better come back to me. I think that panda bear over there looks ready to order.” 

“Hehe, okay!” They ran over to Bambi, the panda bear. “What can I get you? ‘Oh, hi! I’d love a coffee, donuts, and lots of vegetables!’ Okay! That’ll be right up!” 

“Ooh, coffee, that sounds good,” Elwin mused. 

“I can get you coffee!” Cosette giggles and ran to grab their pretend coffee maker. 

They found themselves swarmed with orders, and brought everyone their drinks and meals. They checked up on Elwin the most. 

“Excuse me, Mx. Cosette,” he asked. “This burger isn’t cooked all the way! Could I get a replacement?” 

“Oh no! That’s horrible!” Cosette cried. “How will we recover from this!” 

Elwin gasped. “Are you in the hole?” 

“So far in the hole!” 

“Well, this is quite a pickle,” he admitted. “Because I still need my burger. I’m hungry!” 

“Can I get you something else?” 

“Hmm… I better look over the menu again!” 

Cosette giggled and handed him the menu. He looked over it for a while. “I’ll take the chicken tenders!” 

“Done! Glad we could resolve this.” They grinned. 

They played for a while longer before Cosette began to get too tired. They cleaned up together, then Elwin came to Cosette and knelt in front of them. He took their paci out of their mouth. 

“How’s my angel doing? Did you have any trouble today?” 

Cosette shrugged. “I think I had split a little bit,” they admitted. “I was really angry. But I feel better now.” 

Elwin smiled. “Good. Let’s get some food in that little tummy, hm? Anything you need to talk about with me?” 

“No, Papa.” 

“Okay, baby. Let’s get you some dino nuggets.” 

i really hope you enjoyed!!! tysm!!!

consider commissioning me! /nf

[multiplicity-positivity]

hello!! do you guys know if there’s a good way to find out if we’re a really low communication or possibly monocon system VS if there’s just a mental barrier between front and headspace? im not sure if this is a good description but we don’t notice super distinct shifts but rather at any given moment to find out who’s fronting we go through a list of all our names and see which ones cause anxiety and which ones fit ok. our communication is abysmal and it feels like there’s a “wall” between whoever is at front and the rest of the system. do we just try and accept plurality until someone from the other side of the “wall” shows up? or are there ways to try and make everything run smoother? sorry this is kind of a lot!!! thank you! — las creaturas sys

this may be a bit more complex than we (a nonprofessional) can really help with. it may take some work with a therapist or even just some time spent focusing on self-reflection and discovering yourself in order to find these answers.

that being said, here’s some stuff we can say with confidence (more or less…):

1. all there is to being plural is being or existing as more than one. if you feel like you share others in your mind, that’s all it really takes to be plural. if the plural framework helps you and is useful for you, you’re welcome to use it, even if you have absolutely no contact with other members of your system.

2. the way that you describe figuring out who’s fronting reminds us of an article we read a while back by a did system. here it is -

maybe the way this system functions can provide a bit of insight into your own system, even if you don’t suspect having did or a dissociative disorder.

3. as far as we understand, headspaces are imagined places created by visualizing something in your mind. we wrote a post about headspaces here:

not all systems actively had to create their headspaces, but for the majority of them, this is true. our own headspace was created through conscious choices made by members of our system. however, our host also struggles to access our headspace. we’re not quite sure why this is. as far as we know, dissociative barriers work by blocking off traumatized alters and trauma memories from the alters who handle day-to-day functioning. we’re not sure if being blocked or cut off from the headspace is a dissociative barrier thing.

4. when first discovering a system, establishing contact with other alters can be ridiculously difficult. especially if you have high dissociative barriers, or system members who are heavily in denial or can’t accept that they’re part of a system. however, we firmly believe that with practice and patience, internal communication can improve with time! our system used to be a huge mess in this regard, but at this point we can communicate with each other decently. it’s still a work in progress, but after 2 years of parts work in therapy and lots and lots of time spent focusing on trying to get in touch with each other, we’re in a much better place and find communication much easier to manage.

we have a post with some basics on establishing contact with headmates. it’s designed for folks with dissociative disorders (as that is our experience), but it may be useful for any kind of system. here it is:

…and that’s pretty much all we can say here. if you’re questioning whether or not you’re monoconscious, perhaps try scrolling though @monoconsciouscultureis to see what sort of experiences systems often submit there, and find out if their experiences align with yours. other than that, we don’t really know what else to say that might be useful.

sorry if this post is all over the place or doesn’t make much sense. we’re wishing you luck with figuring this out. remember, with practice, patience, and persistence, you probably can achieve better communication or at least a better understanding within your system. sending you our best!

🐢 kip and 🌸 margo

[protectingtulpas]

Hey there! Apologies if the start of this ask sounds familiar. We're not comfortable with using Tumblr yet, and might have accidentally sent an incomplete ask.

Anyways, you seem pretty cool! Asking for some advice...

So, back in September, I found out about tulpamancy and decided to try my hand at this stuff. And it worked, so now I have an amazing bestie who i'll be calling Star (they/them) for privacy, and we're working on getting them to the front.

And so here comes my main conundrum. After a while of me and Star just hanging around, I notice another presence in the head. I tried ignoring it for a bit, but eventually I tried calling out to them and they replied. After a little bit of talking, we figured out that they were called Hero (they/them), and that i'd accidentally made them by thinking about having another "brain friend", as we like to call ourselves.

Any advice for avoiding this kind of thing happening? As much as I love Hero and Star, it would get very full very quickly if this kind of accidental creation thingy keeps happening. And to clarify, i'm not mad at this "incident". We've all worked it out pretty quickly, and nobody is to blame. Sorry for the wall of text ask haha, but this is something we're curious about!

Hey! You came to the right place, cuz this is something we sort of experienced ourselves! It was super weird at first, and it took a while to convince my host that the newbie was actually there. So basically, this is a combination of two things- for one, roughly a third of tulpas (that're aware they're tulpas, ahdhsf I'll find the statistic link later) are unintentional, which means you go through the process of tulpa creation without actually realizing you're doing it. (This is kinda common in writers!) So it's definitely not an unheard of thing! The second part is that once you've made your first tulpa, you've already gone through a lot of the initial mental training it takes to make the jump to being polyconscious. It's a *lot* easier to make a second tulpa than the first. You spent so long thinking about them and wanting them around that they ended up here!

RE: getting a lot of people eventually, we don't exactly have a lotta control over that cuz we're also disordered, but we definitely have some tips if you're not comfortable expanding your system that shhoouuulldd work better if you don't have big dissociation and memory issues.

One, try to focus on what you have and avoid daydreaming about having new headmates. Try not to let yourself have consistent "characters" you imagine in situations, or what it might be like to have x fictive, or whatever- there's a saying that goes something like, "people are gonna think about a red truck if you tell em not to think about a red truck, but if you tell em to think about a purple bear instead of a red truck they're gonna have more success" or something like that. Focus on doing other things with the headmates you have instead.

Two, and this helps more with fictives for us, but if you feel a certain identity or set of emotions or perspectives or whatever is starting to get a bit intense and might gain autonomy, try associating those feelings or identity with yourself or another (consenting) headmate in the system as much as possible. Like oh that's so relatable or this character is so me, etc etc. Connect em with an identity that already exists if u can. Like for example, my host's trying to avoid a fictive coming from their past life lately by confronting and associating themselves with it as much as possible. That way the separation is eliminated before it can really take hold.

Three, if you feel the need to still ""do tulpamancy"" that isn't just living regular life with ur tulpas, try expanding your range of skills! Imposition is an awesome skill with practice, as well as things like headspace immersion, holding onto front as a non-host for a long time, and more. There're tons more heights you can reach!

Good luck, anon!

[jreads]

Unexpected Constellations (Part 12)

Rating: M for dark(er)(ish?) themes

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Mentions of blood, Canon-level violence, Dark themes, Foul language, (small emetophobia again i am so sorry), But genuinely the themes are dark today, please proceed with caution.

A/N: Nothing to say here today except i love you. I am in the headspace of not doing my thoughts justice in writing. The story is good in my brain, please take my word for it. If you're enjoying the fic, kindly consider a reblog; it's really the only way my work gets out there :) Hope everyone is staying healthy and happy. Comment on this post or the Masterlist to get added to the taglist 🫶

You sat cross-legged in your cell, watching the puddle of blood grow larger as it dripped down off of white armour. Some of it had seeped into your own clothes already. Two stormtroopers lay just in front of you, very dead, the food they had been bringing in long forgotten.

But the cell doors activated from the outside automatically, and the soldiers carried no key cards, so it had mostly been for nothing. Mostly, because watching them bleed out slowly had taken the edge off of your bottomless anger, just a bit. 

It was the only emotion you had allowed yourself to feel. Towards him, towards the situation, towards his soldiers… Towards the Mandalorian.

While you had recovered from the internal injuries inflicted by the containment field, you had been overcome with grief. The stormtroopers who attended to you had been armed to the teeth, and you had considered the logic of a more drastic way out. But as the mental fog had worn off, you remembered you had one more thing to do.

“Now look at this.” He tutted at you, as if reprimanding a small child. “Was it really necessary? It’s not as if we have infinite troopers at our disposal now.”

You stared forward, trying to calm your breathing.

“You’re looking better.” He crouched down to be level with you. “Now, I don’t want to use the containment field again, but that means I’ll need you to behave yourself. Can you do that for me?”

You were picturing spilling his blood, in so many ways, across the pristine floor. All the possibilities flashed behind your eyelids. You just had to escape.

So you nodded, one time, still not making eye contact.

“Yes?” He sounded surprised. You couldn’t blame him; the picture before him probably painted you as some kind of feral animal.

He seemed somewhat satisfied with your answer though, straightening from his stoop. “Rest. I’ll come back for you soon. There’s much to catch you up on. You won’t believe the things we’ve been up to in your absence.”

You were clenching your teeth so hard it was a wonder they weren’t cracking. Fissuring and turning to dust in your mouth.

Before he left, he turned over one shoulder. He smiled. He told you he missed you. And from the emotions you read from him, you knew it to be the truth.

--- Years ago ---

You had been lying on this floor for hours. Days maybe. There was crushed glass across the surface, under your curled up body, digging and cutting into flesh anytime you shifted. 

The group had not held back this time, delighting in drawing screams from you. You hated that they could. Each time you would try so hard to stay silent. Bite your lip or grit your teeth, anything to withhold the satisfaction they got from seeing you break. Because it was that exactly.

They got off on seeing you in pain. You could tell from the waves of arousal that would wind through the room as they toyed with you. They weren’t allowed to touch you that way, and that was perhaps the only blessing you had. But anything else was fair game. A stars, could they be inventive.

Fear, pain, rage… those were all emotions that tethered the Sith techniques, strengthened the wieldier. You had learned that much from your brief training. So it seemed this group had taken it upon themselves to give you a fair dose of each. In their minds, they thought they were making you stronger. Fattening you up like a prize hog to eventually deliver to their master.

Only, that was the issue. Palpatine was dead; lost in the carnage of the Death Star. Which meant that this purgatory would go on forever, as they searched in vain. As you grew old and eventually died, maybe on this very floor, on this bed of glass. 

And why not now? If you could manipulate your manacled hands just so, and grab a sharp enough piece of glass, could you do what needed to be done? 

The door slid open, and you feigned unconsciousness. There were arms under your sides, lifting, glass making a twinkling sound as it fell from your body to the tiled floor.

“Come now, let’s get you fixed up.” It was criminal how soft his voice was, as if he hadn’t watched the rest of the group tear you to pieces and leave you in a heap. You hated every place where he touched you, wished you could scrape the tainted skin off.

How sad it would be. That you would never be able to feel the touch of a lover, one that brought pleasure, not pain. How so very sad. It was all you thought about as the medical droid applied bacta and bandages and injected you with a sedative. Even its immobile LED eyes looked sorrowful. You welcomed the fuzzy darkness with open arms.

Boba had cleared off the table and laid a map of the galaxy down, using ornate cut tumblers to keep the edges from curling inwards. “Where was it?”

The two of them had wasted no time in making preparations, and if Din had not been so lost in his own worry and self-loathing, he would have taken a second to appreciate just how willing they were to help. Especially on a mission with so many unknown variables.

“I’m not sure exactly. There weren’t any nearby planets to landmark it. Probably around here.” His had shook slightly as he pointed to a secluded area in the Outer Rim. He knew Fett noticed. “It’s saved in the Crest’s database.”

Fennec came in then, a droid trailing behind her, both of their arms laden with weapons. She dumped her armful atop the stretched-out map. 

“Smoke bombs, grenades, droid poppers just-in-case, and…” She turned a small pistol over in her hands. “…a stun blaster. It’s all I could get on such short notice.”

“It’ll do.” Boba surveyed the stash with an appraising eye. Din couldn’t seem to understand why she’d need non-lethal weaponry. He wanted them all dead. He didn’t say it aloud.

She braced her palms against the table. “Where are we at?”

“Rough coordinates, no estimate on number of hostiles. Din assumes around fifty. Probably more.” A muscle ticked in Shand’s jaw at the information, and she turned to Boba, angling her head towards the hall. He nodded.

“Give us a moment, Djarin.” They both retreated from the war room. 

Din couldn’t blame them. It didn’t look good. He tried not to eavesdrop on the hushed voices beyond the wall.

“…It’s a suicide mission.” 

“It doesn’t matter. We owe him.”

“Is he sure it’s even—” Boba cut her off before she could continue.

“He’s not leaving her. He would never leave her behind.”

She exhaled loudly. “I know.”

“I would do the same, you know? If it was you.”

“Even if it was impossible?”

“Especially then.”

He stopped listening because his throat was getting thick with something, and he felt as if he had been punched in the chest.

Not that it mattered much—they were back in the room within moments.

Fennec didn’t miss a beat. “What ship was it?”

“Nebula… something.” He couldn’t remember the name, just the way it had sounded on your tongue. Silver and beautiful.

“Nebulon Frigate.” She looked towards Boba again. “Shit.”

“Long range sensors… offensive weaponry…” He was thinking out loud. Finally he looked at Din, pointing a finger in his direction.

“I’m going to need you to get those jump coordinates for me. We’re not taking the Crest.”

“What?” Both him and Fennec exclaimed at once.

“The Firespray has cloaking capabilities. We’ll need the element of surprise. We can’t take fifty stormtroopers at once.” He pondered again for a moment. “What class of frigate was it?”

“B, I think.”

He looked intrigued. “Had a long bridge? One larger section, one small?”

“Yes, but it was damaged. Like it had seen battle and been abandoned before they picked it up.”

Boba nodded a few times. “Good. Good, that means it should be immobile. Likely no shields. And hopefully prone to structural warning alarms.”

He shifted the weapons and glasses to the side, rolling up the parchment. “We’re going stealth.” 

The next time the stormtroopers came into your cell, you didn’t kill them. You took the food from them and ate it. If your plan was going to work, you were going to need to keep up your strength.

They had woken you from a light sleep, sliding the tray across the floor, the screech of it seeming to scratch lines into your brain.

It caught on pieces of debris that littered the cell, pushing them out of its path and towards you. You were being sequestered in the main section of the ship, on a lower level, in an area where damage seemed to be at its worst. The lights would flicker at uneven intervals, the floor was pitted and potholed, and every now and again there would be an eerie groaning sound as the ship floated through space.

Everything ached. Especially the wound on your thigh. The bandage was still in place and there was no blood showing through your trousers, meaning the stitches hadn’t pulled, but it hurt.

Din had been giving you pain medication on the Crest which had numbed it for a time, but without them you were starting to struggle. Just the simple thought of him sent another pang through your leg, and a twin one through your chest.

What had even been the point? Of showing you such care and compassion if he was just planning on dumping you here anyway? You could have sworn there were times where you had felt something from him… 

But you were struggling to remember just what it had been. Lust. Yes, there had been plenty of that, but he had been so damn hard to read. Had it really been that easy to play you? He would have cared about your health because he wouldn’t have gotten paid if you were dead. But why keep up the charade with the crystal? Unless he had wanted you and the crystal.

You reached for your food but halted, focusing instead on a piece of metal just beside your knee. An old portion of piping perhaps, scratched and dented and left to rot on the floor. Ironic. You picked it up, tuned it over in your still-manacled hands.

Come to think of it, where even was the crystal?

Din had been keeping it, all too eager to not leave you alone with it. Ah, that made sense now. Perhaps he had handed it over whenever he got his credits. 

Three times the value of the crystal… That’s what you were worth to him. Well, at least it was a lot of money. But what had he been worth to you? The stars and the galaxy and the space in between it all?

Maker, you were an idiot. A lovestruck, naïve, and stupid idiot.

Just like everyone else, he had wanted something from you. And you had let him have it… willingly. You wondered if he knew how much damage he had done. Just how deep it went. How much you loved him.

You would tell him. You would tell him before you killed him.

You finished your meal and curled into a small ball on the hard floor. Clutching the sad piece of piping to your chest, you let the thought comfort you into sleep.

He came for you sometime later, hours, days maybe. It was always hard to tell. Your back had stiffened, and your leg was only getting worse. But when he beckoned you to follow, you stood on steady legs, careful not to let the searing pain show on your features. You tried not to limp as he led you down the halls and up an elevator, flanked by two troopers, with an additional one bringing up the rear.

The control centre was a sorry sight. Only two personnel were working there, standing up from their seats to give a sharp salute. Their uniforms were dilapidated, stained with grime, littered with rips. Quite unlike his own. But, then again, he had always been self-absorbed.

Exposed wires littered the floor, panels had been strewn about, and there was a strange mildew smell to the air. You wondered how many of the ship’s systems were actually still functioning. At least the security cams worked; a wall of them flickered away, showing brief cuts of too many near-identical hallways. It made you realize just how empty the starship actually was. Just how depleted his resources were.

The troopers lined the room, blasters across chests. “At ease.” He ordered from beside you. They obeyed.

“I wanted to show you this.” He motioned to the room, beyond it, where a wide window looked out over the rest of the ship. “We’ll be staying here a while, as we fix the ship.”

You couldn’t help your delirious laugh. “Fix?” He looked unamused. “You mean to tell me the Empire won’t supply you with a brand-new Star Destroyer to go ghost hunting?”

A muscle ticked in his too-wide jaw. Good. You wanted to agitate him.

You laughed again. “We’ll be here for years. This frigate is a piece of junk.”

But he merely clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining composure. “We have time.”

I’ll bet you do. 

Boba activated the ship’s cloaking as soon as it broke from hyperspace. The calculations had worked, and the frigate was still in position, floating idle in space, no signs of life from the outside.

“They must not have expected you to come back.” Fennec mused.

They would have thought he was smart, logical. Eager to save himself. 

They had no idea. If anything had happened to you, he would personally see the whole ship razed, along with everyone inside it. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

The Firespray took a wide berth around the frigate. “When we dock, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that someone comes to inspect the sound.” Boba punched a few buttons on the dashboard. “If we’re lucky, they’ll just mistake it as debris colliding.”

Fennec queried from the jump seat. “And if we’re not?” 

“Then we stick to plan B.” The ship closed in on its docking port. “Everyone gets out alive.”

There was a tense silence as he maneuvered into position. Underneath the gloves, Din’s knuckles were white, clenched into unforgiving fists.

“Easy… easy…” Boba was muttering under his breath. Finally, Slave One made contact with a short lurch.

“We’re locked in. Din?”

“On it.” He gave the docking port only a second to equalize before opening the shaft door, rifle at the ready. The hall beyond it, mercifully, was empty.

“Clear.” He could hear the others unstrapping from their seats. The hunt was on.

A dull jolt and low clunking noise caught your attention. It seemed to jostle the ground, just a little. You looked at him, and then at the troopers flanking the door for any sort of recognition, but there was none.

“What was that?” 

Only one turned back, acknowledging your question.

“Just damage shifting.”

Some nagging part of you knew they were wrong. It sounded like a ship had docked. And if a ship was here… then that meant you had a way off. One step closer. It was now or never.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “It didn’t sound like damage to me.”

Like clockwork, the comms on his wrist lit up.

“Sir, there’s a small noise disturbance in sector 7. Do you want me to check it out?”

His sigh was patronizing. “Take a look but make it quick. It’s probably just loose steel.”

“Yes sir.” 

He pointed at one of the guards stationed at the door. “You, go with them.”

And just like that, you were one guard down. Only two to go.

You didn’t notice the security feeds along the wall slowly start to go dark, one at a time.

Din, Boba, and Fennec had fallen into a pattern as if it were a choreographed dance. They split up, each taking a different route, sticking to the shadows, and taking out cameras as they went.

By a stroke of bad luck—or maybe in her eyes it was good luck—Shand had run into the bulk of the troopers, including a small party sent to investigate the disturbance. They had made a rule to check in every few minutes, along with a Stromtrooper tally. Boba and Fennec were treating it as somewhat of a challenge.

Din could hear the telltale groan of dying man the next time they checked in. “Espa Three checking in. Nearing the command centre. Six troopers down.”

“Espa two.” Boba replied. “Copy. Headed down to the lower levels. Three.”

Mando was the last to check in. “Espa one. Two down, on route to the sky bridge.”

Still no sign of you. 

In the minutes that followed, his kills got progressively more brutal.

He had been talking at you for some time now, a poor attempt at gloating, or so it seemed. In the meantime, you breathed through stabs of pain in your leg and took the time to examine the room.

The mildew smell meant the presence of water somewhere. Probably a burst pipe under one of the loose panels.

“When the others hadn’t survived the crash, I had to find some new talent.” Maker, would he ever stop talking? “Everyone on this ship volunteered to be here… because they believe.”

You snorted.

“You being here reinforces that belief. It was the first step. I told them that I would get you back, and here you are.” 

You raised your wrists, still circled in cuffs. “I suppose you haven’t been forthcoming about the fact that you’re keeping me against my will. In chains.” At that comment, he dropped your gaze.

“What? You never told them about what you did to me all those years ago? I wonder if they’d still follow you blindly knowing that you used to cut me into ribbons, starve me for days on end, toy with my mind—” The other men had shifted slightly in their seats, perhaps unsure what to do with the new information.

He was inches away from your face then, hissing. “I never touched a hair on your head!”

“No, but you were happy to sit back and watch as everyone else had their fun.”

“It made you stronger!” The veins in his neck were bulging. 

You moved forward, the move so abrupt that he relinquished a step. “You tortured me! For years!”

“I made you powerful!” He was seething. “It was because I cared!” 

There.

Your response was barely a whisper. “Really?” you lifted your hands again. “Then prove it.”

He seemed to assess. You could follow the train of thought in his eyes. The ship was floating out in the middle of nowhere, and he had a small cabal of troopers under his command. They could subdue you if need be. You were a threat but seemed to have come to your senses. Cooperated. He believed what he wanted to believe. You knew the feeling.

Finally, he nodded. And again, to a trooper at the door. 

When he approached you, white armour glinting, and lifted a key you almost sighed in relief. And when the cuffs fell away and the world came back into focus around you, the plan was as clear as day.

Another Stormtrooper entered the room then, delivering a slip of folded paper to the man in front of you. Looking frustrated and somewhat confused, he opened and read its contents. Whatever he beheld had his expression clouding over within seconds.

His order was clipped. “Secure the ship. Now.” The troopers filed out. And then he grabbed you by the elbow, steering you to the front of the room, and into the tattered captain’s chair. Your leg barked at the pain and the edges of your vision frayed a little, trying to keep up with the overload of information available now that you were able to use the Force again.

So, a ship had docked. And it wasn’t a friendly. Good. This could work well.

He was looking out the window with frantic eyes. Scared? Really?

You utilized his distraction to your advantage. The water source was behind the wall across the room; you could feel the steady tick, tick, tick, of droplets falling. It was difficult because you couldn’t see it, but the sense was enough. Focusing enough to make sweat bead on your brow, you manipulated the metal until the dripping became trickling, and then the trickling became rushing. 

It pooled onto the floor of the command room, stretching out perfectly in the direction you had planned, right towards the exposed wires. He was too busy barking orders to notice.

But the uniformed technician beside you had, and now watched you with wide eyes. What caught your attention was how his hand shook, hovered over the power button. A question in his eyes.

You nodded and, after what felt like a millennium of bated breath, he nodded back. You both lifted your feet from the floor.

The power engaged with a zap and it was oh so immensely satisfying to see him go down, comms splashing into the water, body convulsing until it finally went limp. The technician cut the power immediately. You could hear men on the other end of the line. “Sir… Sir?”

“Thank you.” You spoke in an effort to break his eye contact on the immobile bodies of his old team.

He turned to you, palms raised in surrender. “I had no idea.” You could feel the reverence in his gaze. It made you uncomfortable.

“I know.” You backed away in an effort to show you meant no harm. “Go. Get off this ship. Take anyone that will go with you.”

He wasted no time, jumping from the chair and running from the room. Leaving you alone.

You didn’t check the man’s pulse, instead going for the discarded note that lay face-down in the growing puddle.

The writing on it was hurried, messy. The water had already dampened the paper, making the ink run. But the text was still clear enough. It was only one line. And it read: The Mandalorian is on board the ship.

Ah.

Come to assuage his guilt, had he? But all of a sudden, doubt was an insistent kernel in the back of your mind. You were shaking. It was from rage… definitely rage… Rage, and definitely not fear and adrenaline and confusion and perhaps a little, little bit of hope.

A fiery blast hit your periphery as the bridge, visible from the deck window, fractured and burst into flames, the two sides of the ship bowing away from each other. The impact had you struggling to maintain balance.

---Minutes earlier---

His tally was up to 15. Maybe he could have taken fifty at once. It sure felt like he could. He had no idea how many more there were. More, hopefully. Enough to quench his seemingly endless bloodlust.

Mando had run the sky bridge like it was a hundred-meter sprint. His heart was thundering once he took cover in the shadowed corner of the far end, sweat starting to feel uncomfortable under the heavy armour.

A few minutes back, blood spray had caught him across the helmet, partially obscuring his vision. He had wiped at it haphazardly, but he was sure he looked a sight. Not that he had any time to dwell on it. He shot out the camera before he rounded the corner.

He had left Boba and Fennec on the other side of the ship to look for you. He hadn’t liked the idea originally, but it was the only way the plan would work. He was the one they would recognize; he was the one they would come after. The next time he took a left turn, he didn’t bother to blast the camera. He let it run, red light blinking as it oscillated to turn on him. He stared it down.

Come and get me.

He had minutes now, two at most, to get back across the bridge before the big wave arrived. He bolted back the way he came.

It worked like a charm. Of course it did. He had never been any good at planning or strategy, but Fett…

He was concealed in a maintenance closet when the cavalry roared past. Maker, it must have been forty troopers at least. He would have laughed at the insinuation if he wasn’t so tense. 

Forty troopers? To take him down? It was downright flattering. Once the last of them stormed by, he emerged from his hiding place, took two long strides, and fired one of Boba’s missiles right down the skybridge channel. 

The blast doors on each side engaged automatically as soon as the explosive detonated. The force of it almost threw him backwards. But, as expected, the ship split satisfyingly into two.

“Bridge detonated. We’re on our own.”

“I’m not so sure.” was Fennec’s only reply.

You were tracking water down the halls. Strangely quiet halls. Some littered with dropped bodies. You were too exhausted to be confused.

You were dizzy, very dizzy, likely still in recovery from the containment field. Using the Force had only made it worse. As you would turn each corner, you had to brace a hand against the wall for stability. It felt like you were going in circles. Where the hell was the loading bay?

There was a barricade of stormtroopers in the next hall. Enough of them to be more than a nuisance. You could take them, but judging by the way you felt, you might pass out in the process. Then who knew when you might wake up. Your chance at escape was a small, fleeting window. But combat wasn’t an option against that many at once. You steeled yourself, pushing off the wall.

“Stop!” Their blasters were raised, but you knew they wouldn’t shoot. You were much too precious.

One push, just one more. You could do it. As your limbs protested and stomach heaved, you drew upon the Force, a deep pull. One trooper broke from the rest, advancing towards you, holding those damn cuffs. You were so sick of the sight of them.

The ship started to shake. Your fists were curled so tight that your thumbs popped. And then they were choking, all of them, grasping at their necks and flailing before finally falling to the ground before you. Your knees hit the tile hard, the impact jarring your body. There were so many; you could barely see the floor through the throng of their fallen bodies. You wanted to vomit.

Footsteps sounded from behind you, one pair, and you half twisted, delirious with fatigue, ready to throw out another blind attack. It took an extra second for your mind to catch up with your eyes.

“Fennec?” She was already speed walking towards you. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Saving you.” She grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you after her. “Obviously.”

“No, but—” Your brain was failing to keep up. “Din is here.”

“I know. I came with him.” 

You yanked your wrist out of her grip, stumbling again. “You knew?” You were slurring your words as if you had drunk too much spotchka.

“Knew what?”

Stars, no. “He gave me up. He took credits for it.” You didn’t want to hurt Shand. You liked her. But if she had played any part in—

But she looked deflated, pitiful. “What kind of lies did they tell you?”

“Lies?” The hall was spinning again. “He left me.”

“He came to get us so we could get you out.”

A sound came from the far end and you both whirled on it. Your heart dropped out of chest and burned a hole through the durasteel of the floor.

He was stained with blood. It was dripping down the side of his helmet. And he was heaving, breastplate rising and falling dramatically, like he was struggling to breathe. You could swear you felt a tether between his body and your own. You felt him again, anger, stress and above all relief… so much relief.

You were moving before you knew what you were doing. Waking and then running. He opened his arms as if to accept you but—

“You left me! YOU LEFT ME!” You were yelling it, screaming at the top of your lungs, barreling fists against his armour. He couldn’t do a thing, couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better so he stood there, still as death, and took the brunt of your hits. They didn’t hurt, not really, not physically, but every impact seemed to shatter a piece of him. Fennec stepped forward to stop you, stun blaster half raised, but he halted her with a hand. You were exhausting yourself, probably experiencing more pain than you were inflicting. “You LEFT…. Me.” You gasped. The hits were getting weaker. “You left. You—"

Your next throw missed, and you fell forward. Into his chest. His arms were around you on instinct, and your fists curled into the base of his cowl. “You left me.” It was a sob this time, and it was as if all of your muscles had suddenly given up. You weren’t even standing anymore, instead held up purely by the force of his embrace.

Tears were stuffy under his helmet. Din could only breathe you in. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he whispered into your hair. He didn’t even notice Boba enter the corridor, a polished looking man in cuffs behind him, blood dripping from his temple. He just held you. 

“I’m sorry, love... I’m so sorry.”

You passed out in his arms.

Boba had led everyone back to the Firespray, including the man who Din now knew to be your captor. The Imperial loyalist you had told him about only a few days ago. Since then, his guilt and worry for you had made way for a sharp anger, a simmering resentment that he was trying so desperately to keep in check. Because he wouldn’t be the one to deal with the man. As much as he really, really wanted to.

That was a privilege that he would save for you. If, of course, it was something you wanted. If not, he would delight in skinning him piece by piece, roasting the flesh on a fire and then feeding it back to him. No, that wasn’t creative enough.

The group passed hallways strewn with the bodies of troopers, some interestingly dispatched. When Boba cast a look towards Fennec, she only shrugged her shoulders. His smirk was fond.

Din carried you, one arm across your back, the other cradling your bent knees. The small puffs of air you exhaled into his neck were the only thing grounding him. But just to have you in his arms again… Tension was lifting from his back, leaving aches and pains in its wake.

The trip back to Tatooine, to Mos Espa, was relatively quiet. Since the ship was tight on space, Din sat, legs extended on the floor, across from the man whose death he was plotting in an endlessly violent myriad of ways.

He had removed his tasset armour plate so that your head could rest on his thigh, body stretched to the side. A piece of stray hair had fallen over your face, and he tucked it back behind your ear with a gloved hand. You didn’t stir.

A piece of old piping had fallen out of the fold of your bloodstained clothing with a loud clang. He had been relieved to find that none of the blood was your own. But it was a strange thing, practically trash, but for some odd reason, you had held onto it. He would ask you about it when you woke. For the time being, he stowed it away in his weapon’s belt.

“You will never value her, you know.” Din looked up to see the man, who was watching him with an emotion akin to disgust. “Not the way I do.”

He shifted on the floor, bound legs moving awkwardly. “You stunt her potential, shrink her to a miniature size so she fits on your ship, among your kind. “But she’ll always be above you. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. You’re filth compared to her.”

“Will you shut him up?” Shand called from the cockpit.

“She deserves more. She was born for more.” His gaze was piercing. “You know it.”

Din didn’t reply. He wouldn’t admit that he might even agree.

Fennec emerged and shot him once with the stun blaster.

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